April 30, 2009 @ 06:48

For Owen, who is one now. Brobee is from Yo Gabba Gabba, if you don’t have a little one who’s in charge of your life at the moment and didn’t know . . . 

April 28, 2009 @ 21:02

1.  I think I may have to go 13th Warrior at work tomorrow.  Translation?  Cut the sword down to something I can handle and start swingin’. 

2.  I actually do need a new purse.  My great big PBS tote is getting a bit combersome. 

3.  Today, an evil woman sent me this bit of decadence.  You’re going right now to buy the stuff, aren’t you? 

4.  Puppy now loves the movie Twilight.  hmmmm . . .  Sorry, E. 

5.  I took a quiz on facebook and selected not to share it but it still showed up on my profile.  So now everybody knows which Twilight character I am.  Little bit immature?  Do I care?  Not sure . . . 

6.  I bought swim shorts and a sleeveless shirt today to wear on a canoe trip Memorial Day weekend.  Guess that means I’m going for sure now.  Bear’s never been canoeing and I’m what you’d call an amatuer at best.  Should be a hoot.  Puppy will be safely tucked away with Daddy and Stepmommy. 

7.  This weekend is the Kentucky Derby, apparently, I would not have known.  Just never been a fan.  I can tell you who is still in the running for the Stanley Cup, though.  But a friend is coming over and going to show me how to make proper mint juleps.  I’m very excited. 

8.  One of the other kindergarten mom’s asked me today if I’d been working out and said it showed.  That’s perfect inspiration for getting out of my two week slump. 

9.  I got the book I’d been waiting for in the mail today.  An instructional book written for ladies in 1602.  It is literally the size of a checkbook.  Now, seriously people, it’s a reprint, did it have to be that small?  Although, it’s making me wonder.  It’s publishing date is 1939.  And it’s covered in the quaintest little tissue paper dust jacket.  I’m wondering if I didn’t make a really good purchase.  It was 1/3 the price of the other booksellers’ listings for the same book.  I just figured I was getting  well worn copy.  But it appears to be pristine.  Nice. 

10.  Alice, the character I’m supposed to be is Alice.  There.  I know it was killing you. 

A couple nights ago, we were discussing pop psychology over happy hour beers.  Now I’m not gonna say that I just outright hated the little quiz we took, but it sure made me appreciate the facebook quizzes, lemme tell ya.  Think after I’m done here that I’ll go see what flavor ice cream I am. 

Anyway, the conversation bumped around our inner-selves until it somehow wound up on the subject of totem animals.  Honestly I don’t know how we got there.  One friend was telling us about a course she had taken and in part of it they had done a little self searching and a couple of excercises to determine their totem animals.  So in this one excercise, pretty simple really, you relax into a meditative state and just think about it as you’re going to sleep and then you dream your totem animal.  Easy peasey.  I could even do that.  So last night, I’m laying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying not to let my mind wander, as it turns out not so easy peasey.  I was once told by a hypnotist that I was the most unrelaxed person she’d ever seen.  I was part of a group session that was supposed to help us on our diets, go figure.  So as I was laying there last night I just kept drifting back to all the things I need/want to do this weekend, including weed eat, spray for wasps, and wash and detail the car.  Well, not so surprisingly, this morning I woke up from a dream about purse shopping.  Seriously people?  I haven’t done more than walk quickly through a purse department in the past year while sneering about how ugly they all are and deciding that last years beach tote will do.  So then, is my totem animal the perfect hand bag?  With maybe lifetime membership girl card in it? ’Cause that’s pretty stinkin’ funny if it is. 

April 24, 2009 @ 15:47

I forgot to post weeklies last week . . .  here’s why in two weeks worth: 

Miles:  12

Hours of other fitness pursuits:  3

Pounds lost:  Zero

The plateau, she sucks . . .  yes, I know my mileage did also, but I’m being optimistic (read operating within a comfy layer of self deception). But of course, happiness is as happiness does, so I’m putting my happy ass to work tonight.  On my honor, trail or bike or bust. 

April 21, 2009 @ 17:03

So this past weekend we loaded up and went to an SCA event with an on-site arts and sciences competition.  Teams would arrive on site and produce from start to finish their entries.  Any category, all comers, lots of cool stuff going on.  I have been researching and planning on working towards really perfecting sugar work in period method.  Early in the week however, the weather channel forecasted rain.  Sugar and rain are not friends.  So I brought some modern fixes for what I anticipated would be problems.  I also had totally fortuitously landed myself an awesome set of teammates.  Three new friends that are smart and funny and made the whole day a pleasure.  Fantastic folks who were able to think of great solutions at the right time and we pulled off the piece.  Just not the way we might have hoped in the beginning. 

When we arrived on Friday evening we walked up to the main competition area to see forges blazing and blacksmiths hammering, a woodworker with a man powered (built by himself I was told) lathe/saw, a stained glass artist beginning their piece, numerous seamstresses pinning and cutting and laying out fabric, a calligrapher cutting her own quills, a woman spinning linen, a team outfitting a youth combattant from head to toe in armour and heraldry, and a half dozen other projects intimidatingly underway.  It was magnificent.  We discussed our plans and it was decided that it would not be a good idea to try to build our sugar piece too early as the rain was steady.  We would begin first thing in the morning and do a straight through push. 

When we set up that morning the rain was still pouring.  We were crowded into a hall that was a bit too small for all of us, but the SCA as a whole is used to making it work and are nothing if not polite and accomodating to each other.  So we crammed onto a table and went to work. Sitting right next to the main door to the hall, we were continually bathed in damp cold air every time someone entered and left and between were washed with hot dry air from the heating vents.  Our sculpted leaves began to crackle.  I had bought the wrong adhesive for the tree mounting.  But we continued on.  Half the team made a dash to Walmart to buy the right adhesive and brought us all back lunch.  And then we got a lucky break.  The rain stopped and the sun came out and a nice dry breeze was blowing so we decided to move out side with our pavilion and finish up with more elbow room.  And frankly, more privacy.  I’m not really good in crowds.  That fishbowl feeling is not fun for me.  I had had a couple of conversations already with passers by who stopped to chat that had made me nervous.  Also in the course of the day I heard a couple of comments that I clearly wasn’t intended to hear.  They were not flattering.  I knew the piece had issues, but damn people. 

In the end, the parsley and raspberries and cloves that had been brought in order to make period food dyes could not be used in the loss of time.  I used modern food dyes and prepared myself for the judges wrath.  We completed our piece just 15 minutes before the deadline and submitted it and waited for our turn to be judged.  But suddenly, all the activities broke up and the judges went off to a scheduled meeting.  Someone told me that they were done.  It was over.  Our piece had not been judged.  I was not happy.  I had in the course of the day had a couple of conversations with judges as they made the rounds and checked on people.  We had openly discussed the flaws with our peice.  All I could think was that they had deemed us unworthy of even judging.  I barely managed not to cry.  I did however spew a bit.  Sometimes profanity will keep you from crying like a little girl, ya know?  I went back to our pavilion and half heartedly did some clean up and then went and waited for a turn to shower and change for the evenings activities. 

But then, a couple hours later, someone came up and told me it was our turn and to gather up our documentation.  The person who’d told me that judging was over had been mistaken.  And I hate to even admit it but I’d thrown our documentation away in my fit.  Luckily I had a second copy in the car.  I gathered it up and in a bit of a daze went to face the judges.  Thankfully with a teammate by my side.  When we sat down, I was just blown away.  They raved.  Apparently you learn invaluable lessons from watching Foodnetwork Challenge.  Sometimes, just finishing a piece on deadline is a major deal.  And one of the judges was a sugar artist.  She knew what the rain had meant to us.  I was able to pull myself out of my pity party and intelligently speak about the modern substitutions we had made in order to complete our piece on time.  I was able to speak to what would have been the better choices.  And in the end, we came away with a respectable 15 out of 20 score. I hope it was obvious how grateful I was for that.  And how grateful I was to our team. Hopefully only those who know me and love me got to witness my being a total tool. 

It was, in the end, a day spent with some great friends.  And crazy as we all are, we’re already talking about what to do next. Here are two of the fabulous three hanging the marzipan fruits from the infamous tree. 

Passer by:  Dude, you brought a tree? 

Me:  Uh, yah. 

Passer by:  What for?  (bewildered stare)

Me:  Well, to hang the fruit on, of course . . . 

April 15, 2009 @ 20:10

I walk into my room and this is what I find . . . 

Puppy with the DVD player remote in hand:  TOO UGLY!!!  TOO STINKY!!!  TOO UGLY!!!  TOO STINKY!!!  TOO UGLY!!!  TOO STINKY!!! (punctuated with hysterical laughter) 

It took me a minute to figure it out . . . 

Ah, he’s found the Invader Zim DVD.  This could be bad . . . 

Edit:  And it begins . . .  Tonight at bedtime . . . 

Puppy:  Mommy, I can’t go to sleep, first you have to tell me . . . 

Me:  Yes, tell you what? 

Puppy:  Where is my spleen? 

Me:  Your spleen? 

Puppy:  Yes, my spleen?  What does it do? 

Me: Uh . . . 

Dang it Zim!!!  I forgot about the organ episode! 

April 11, 2009 @ 10:38

Miles:  9, not enough, but none of them on the bike.  *grin*

Hours of other fitness pursuits:  2

Pounds lost:  2

So the weather has officially turned better.  Still really chilly at night, but the running makes that go away, yes?  I feel good.  Better than I expected.  So much so that this afternoon, I’m buying myself a new pair of Brooks Adrenalines.  The bike work during the last four months, although partially a bit of a cop out I gotta admit, really helped.  I can feel the strength I built in my legs that is making these last pounds feel like less of a burden than they could be.  Emily said I’d get my mile back quickly.  But I gotta say I wasn’t sure I believed it.  Shouldn’t have doubted her.  Really.  Muscle memory is pretty cool.  And as much of a newb to running as I am, I feel good.  Really good.  Better than chocolate. 

April 08, 2009 @ 22:29

So a rash of car break-ins has forced Trixie and I to choose a new trail to run on.  Worse, we learned it the hard way, as her car got hit last night.  More on that soon at her place.  So tonight we went to the trail that’s a half block from my house.  Well lit, with basketball courts and tennis courts, always full of people.  Good call.  And entertaining, too.  As we round the curve near the tennis courts, three teenagers arrive with rackets.  Two guys, one girl.  Very Ryan Reynolds movie in the making.  She’s carrying a racket, but wearing penny loafers and cute little ankle socks and a prairie skirt.  Remember those?  Yeah.  She’s adorable, yes, but honey, you ain’t playing tennis like that?  Really?  We round the corner on the next lap and sure enough, the boys are sweating and running down the ball and making manly noises.  She’s standing on the edge of the court, right up close to the net, twirling her racket in her hand with one little foot kicked out, toe down, rocking her ankle back and forth.  I swear, a hundred years ago this girl would have had some mad parasol skills.  If nothing else, hoping to see how this all plays out will keep me back at the trail to run every night . . .  Good luck sugar, and maybe go rent Meet Me In St. Louis.  You could totally pick up some pointers . . .  No, really.  See what I’m sayin’? 

April 06, 2009 @ 08:34

One of the very best parts of being me, is that somehow, inexplicably, luckily, in ways that defy me to understand, I have a group of friends and family that are beyond perfection and beyond my ability to even be thankful enough to deserve.  They ignore my gaffs.  They forgive my short attention span.  When I slip and say something that is a little too direct, they either poke me or shake their heads and smile.  If I drift away during a conversation they will sometimes draw me back.  Sometimes let me go and catch me later.  They get me.  And still love me.  How this is possible I will never comprehend.  But Saturday night was yet more proof. 

I have a ridiculous phobia.  I am afraid of zombies.  I know it’s irrational.  But it’s tied to old experiences.  I don’t tell the story of why because it’s hard.  It’s gotten better of the years.  We joke about it now.  I even thoroughly, sincerely, enjoyed Shawn of the Dead.  How could you not, right?  But sometimes, the joke goes too far and I snap.  It’s not fair to the jokesters.  How could they possibly know?  If it were a fear of spiders nobody would be throwing one at me.  Because that makes sense.  For this phobia though, to be a joke just seems natural.  And if I were more sane, I guess?  I would laugh my ass off at myself for it, too.  A year or two ago a couple of coworker friends wall papered my office with huge graphic color prints of them.  They replaced my desktop and screen savers with them.  I walked in and fell apart.  I barely made it down the hall to the bathroom before the vomiting started.  I couldn’t sleep for two days.  IT came and cleaned the files from my computer.  I couldn’t bear to do it myself.  And I then I had to tell them it wasn’t their fault and explain why. 

So two years ago Trixie and I painted my dining room a bright sunflower yellow.  Before we began, in one of our sporadic bursts of feng shui dreams of future happiness inspiration, we wrote all over the walls.  Bits of poetry, lines from our favorite songs, wishes for my boys, hope, dreams, love.  Then we painted over them with the bright yellow.  You wouldn’t believe how the aching in your shoulders will disappear on that last wall as you roll sunflower gold over words that your friend has written about how much they love you.  It was a really lovely day.  So as I had been planning on painting the hallway next weekend, I decided to pull all the framed photos down from the walls early and during Saturday night’s first grilling out party of the year, I let my friends loose on the walls.  It was magnificent.  People wandered back throughout the night, writing notes, wisdom, classic bathroom wall humor.  They drew pictures and quoted favorite authors and reminded me of how lucky I am.  As the night wore on, and the sangria began to disappear, of course, it got rowdier.  So when Trixie called me in the house to see something, I was expecting sophmoric.  For a good time call . . .  you know?  But earlier in the night some zombie jokes had been passed around the kitchen island as we were making daquiries, so the seed had been planted, and my friend Jon is an artist.  You see what’s coming, don’t you?  Trixie had been trying to explain that it was too much, but couldn’t put it into words.  It wasn’t until Sunday morning when we were talking that I realized she didn’t know the whole story.  So when I rounded the corner from my bedroom, there on the hallway wall staring out at me was a horrifically well drawn full color zombie.  I skidded backwards into the kitchen like I’d just rounded the corner on a hornet’s nest.  I screamed at Trixie, I’m ashamed to say.  And had to leave the house.  I stood out in my driveway and kept it together.  And then, dammit.  I had to go inside and apologize.  I had scared Jon of course, who is the sweetest man alive.  Not fear of me, but fear that he’d really upset me.  Which, in a tangential way, he had.  But it could not in a thousand years be his fault.  How could he know that I’m a little bit crazy around the edges?  So I walked in to find him painting a swath of sweet baby blue hearts across the room like a group of butterflies in the wind.  No zombies in sight.  He looked down at me from his, what is it 6′ 7″? and said, “I’m sorry.”  And I immediately told him how sorry I was and how I wasn’t mad and that he couldn’t have known and if I were bigger person I’d have probably have groveled at his feet.  I was a bit torn between clutching onto the shreds of my dignity and feeling like a complete shit.  I hugged him and made a mental note to never take this man for granted. 

The rest of the evening was beautiful.  I kept wandering back through the hallway and reading the new notes.  At 4:00 a.m. after the last guest left and Trixie and Charlie were snuggled and asleep on my sofa, I took pictures of the walls, pausing frequently to cry a bit.  I am blaming that on the sangria.  I’d post all the pictures but they’re impossible to read on that scale, but here are some of the very best . . . 

If all I ever have is what I have today, it will have been more than enough. 

There are some things I know for certain: always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder, keep rosemary by your garden gate, plant lavender for luck . . . 

I totally “heart” you. 

Your love is better than ice cream. 

We love you more than chocolate.  (signed by everyone)

By forgiving, I absolve myself from further injury.  By loving, I forgive myself for being injured. 

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . . 

In the story of my life on the day that I met you is written:  Here begins a new day. 

Think outside of the (and a little drawing of a box)

The only thing that kills us is not living. 

Second star, then straight on till morning . . . 

Of all the people I love, one thing they have in common, they make me laugh. 

The walls?  They just hold up the ceiling, babe. 

Vini, Vidi, Vici

You remind me of the babe.
   What babe?  
The babe with the power. 
   What power? 
The power of voodoo. 
   Who do?  You do.  
Do what? 
   Remind me of the babe. 

I wish that your ship would come in, but at least can hope for a canoe! 

Don’t get your purse wet! 

This I know and know full well . . . 

Someone stole the “I” out of dign_ty.  Story of my life . . . 

I thought I was looking for love.  I thought I had found it.  And then I happened to wake up, and realized I had dreamed it.  I thought it would find me.  I thought I deserved it.  It wasn’t until I woke up that I realized it was staring at me the whole time . . .  ’cause you gotta have . . .  FRIENDS!! 

The joy is in the ride. 

We are just too pretty for God to let us die.

You are proof that god loves me. 

Today and always, beyond tomorrow, I need you beside me, always my best friend - my soulmate. 

What else can I say?  Except dammit I’ve got the best friends that ever were . . .  Sunday Trixie stayed and the hallway is now a soft pale emerald green.  All grown up proper.  But I know what lies beneath.  Here are a few pics. Defy you not to smile.  Swoosh . . . 

April 06, 2009 @ 06:15

And no time to do it in!  So I’ll just have to throw this out now and come back later.  Best. Weekend. Ever!  Officially.  All my best friends.  Great first grilling out party of the year.  And I’ll tell you all the details tonight.  For now, bidness . . . 

Weekly Stats

Miles:  12

Hours of other fitness pursuits:  3

Pounds lost:  3

Muscles that are sore from laughing for 48 straight hours and then painting my hallway Sunday:  All of them.